


Versus: Crossover Ficlets

by Runespoor



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War, Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runespoor/pseuds/Runespoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chance comparisons and hypothetical meet-ups to answer the question "who would win", with too much regard as to the nature of the contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lewyn vs Zelos

1) Well, we have empirical evidence that death isn’t as much of a problem for Lewyn as it is for Zelos. 

 

2) …or you could say: Zelos is a magic knight, Lewyn’s a sage. If Zelos gets to Lewyn before Lewyn gets Holsety, he very much stands a chance. He’d just need to get close. Lewyn’s squishy. 

But the fight could still take place in Silesia.

Zelos fights with a dagger; there’d be a splatter of blood on snow.

Do you think he saw Queen Rahna? Do you think he’d see her with Lewyn? 

Do you think she’d throw herself in front of him, if an unknown attacker tried to strike her son down?

Do you think Zelos would win, against Silesian snow and a mother’s scream?

 

3) “Queen Fury.”

On the other, _much more important_ hand, Zelos saved his ~~ladylove~~ ~~unrequited crush~~   ~~girl he loves whom it’s not required by game mechanics he should marry and also he’s the fucking Chosen so it’s not like he can choose who he’ll be married to anyway~~ Sheena from getting herself killed when she was trying to.

It’s a point of pride: sure, he made himself into an obnoxious prick to her, but at least it’s ensured that she won’t miss him enough to _die of a broken heart_ once he’s shuffled off this mortal coil.

Nah, thinking it through, Zelos calls this his win.

 

4) Zelos’ the better spy, though.

Sure, it’s because his friends (who are not his friends) don’t really bother to think about him enough to consider whether he could, but hey! Zelos put a lot of effort into making them think of him as a sex-obsessed arrogant jerk! 

Ha, just imagine. Lloyd taking his advice. That’d be such a disaster. Thank Martel Lloyd is way too much of a goody-two-shoes to ever listen to what Zelos has to say.


	2. Raquesis vs Seles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never do anything because it's easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This _isn't_ the fic I was afraid would justify my self-imposed rule of never considering Tales of Symphonia and Fire Emblem together, especially Jugdral.

The first time Seles and Raquesis fight, it’s in the arena. 

And even if Raquesis beat the dragon rider, and the ice warrior, and the dragon, timing her strikes right and gathering acclaim from the crowd, against Seles she’ll lose. Fiery little princesses armed with a sword and a glare don’t do so well against ice-cast princesses who cast themselves out of their tower. Seles keeps everyone far out of arm’s reach, of sword reach. Seles buckled exspheres to her gloves and Raquesis is learning twice as fast as she should. 

The first time, Raquesis learns defeat, and when her knee hits the ground (sword ignominiously planted in the ground, keeping her upper body up by clinging to it) before she loses consciousness she thinks she hears, when her opponent gloats on her victory, a whisper of _dear brother_.

But Raquesis never did anything because it’s easy.

*

She returns to the arena a full-fledged knight. Seles hears of her by people’s acclaim, roaring loud and so long it almost drowns the commenter’s announcements. She uses an axe against the dragon rider, magic against the ice warrior, and pulls out a bow against the wyvern.

They face off shortly after Raquesis’ name was first announced.

Seles throws her the same practiced glance with which she’s learned to gauge an opponent’s strength. Raquesis is barely winded, though she doesn’t look like a girl who ever cared for cooking; last time she was on the brink of exhaustion, only held together by determination and that pretty sword of hers. And she holds herself differently now, but that’s to be expected from someone who used the past few months to change herself.

Seles (gloves crinkling when she clenches her fists; exspheres exuding the bizarre warmth of her focusing her magic as strong as she can, warm energy when she prepares to let out the cold, some days when she leaves the arena she can barely touch them, they’re so hot, almost burning; she’ll start with throwing a Freeze Lancer, she decides, just a challenge to see if Raquesis tries to come closer) prepares for more surprises. She doesn’t expect Raquesis pulling out a sword, again.

It takes only a brush of the blade for her to realize it’s a magic sword. Her energy seeps out every time Raquesis does so much as raise her sword, and though Seles jumps back, eyes fixed on her adversary, she knows, her energy is leaving her too fast… Her hat falls on the arena’s sand, blue gem dulling in the dust as the exsphere on Seles’ hand starts humming – fizzing – not that anyone can hear it over the din of weapon and spell, Seles herself is barely aware of it, the noise mixing almost seamlessly with the thrumming of her blood in her ears.

_Time to break out the heavy stuff._

She has the satisfaction of seeing Raquesis’ eyes widening when she pulls out her star hammer, but as she brings it down Raquesis easily sidesteps it, counters with a slash of her sword that leaves Seles gasping. She pushes, again, a fierce slam that Raquesis only dodges, but at least she’s brought herself a few seconds, Raquesis pushed back a few steps.

Her voice is hoarse when she shouts out a spell. “ _Ray_!”

The Light spell takes a lot out of her, it wrenches through her chest like a bad coughing fit. Her heart skips a beat. _Excitement_ , she tells herself. Raquesis _grunted_ , _that_ spell hit her, you don’t _grunt_ if everything’s going so easy.

_I haven’t lost yet!_

But in the end she does, her breath catching on her teeth, Raquesis’ _damnable sword_ pointed at her chest.

She does, under Raquesis’ unsympathetic gaze, but at least she won’t faint. She can do at least that much – she _will_ do at least that much. Her heart is loud and painful in her chest. She will not faint, like some ill little girl best locked away for her own good. Her breath drowns in her mouth, and her extremities – her gloved hands – are heavy as though Gnome is pulling down on them. She gasps a desperate breath, she _refuses_ to faint—

The last thing she sees before her head pulls her under is Raquesis’ expression changing, and the girl throwing herself closer.

At least she’s out before she can know whether Raquesis catches her. That’d be even more embarrassing than fainting.

*

Seles wakes up in the infirmary wing of the arena. Raquesis, who has poured her a glass of water for want of something to do, pushes it in her hand when Seles’ eyes focus on her and she opens her mouth to ask—probably what Raquesis is doing here.

Seles’ eyes sharpen, but she takes the glass all the same. If it were her, Raquesis would gulp it down to get rid of it faster, but Seles drinks the water slowly, accommodating to her body’s pain.

“I didn’t know you were sick.” It comes out accusing, from behind crossed arms. Seles is younger than Raquesis herself when she took up arms to defend Nodion.

The responding glare doesn’t make her back down. What fool takes on an arena when they’re not healed? Or worse – performs as champion at one?

Seles’ gaze slides down, slow, to the sword Raquesis propped against the bed. “Your—” it comes out ragged, Seles stops, impatiently clears her throat. “Your sword’s a cheat.”

“So is that stone on your glove.” A sudden movement out of the corner of Raquesis’ eyes makes her glance down. Seles’ knuckles are clenched white on the bedsheet. Her thumb peeks outs from behind the other fingers, orangey-salmon nail visible without her gloves. Her anger doesn’t show up on her face, a perfect blank mask Raquesis would never have thought of envying her when she was her age. “My brother gave me that sword,” she tells Seles to her face, because Raquesis never did anything that was easy.

In the infirmary bed, Seles’ shoulders hunch up: vulnerable, defensive. Her words are nothing but acid, though. “Brotherly love,” she sneers. “How lovely for you.”

Raquesis’ fingers find the Earth sword’s hilt, curling around its comforting warmth. The Earth sword is a gentle, familiar presence, never stronger than when she is half-asleep and reaching for someone she lost; but even awake, when she rests her hand against its side, she feels closer to what she once had, or didn’t have and wanted. It’s a treasured memento. For all the graying dawns when her hand fumbles out and finds cold metal, she’s glad for it. “There are few things more precious.”

“Oh? I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.” Seles’ gaze dips down first, and away. Reddening fingers from fists clenched too tight, made not for punching, but for crushing.

“Oh?” Raquesis bites out an echo. “So you don’t have a brother then?”

She pins the younger girl with her gaze. Daring her to demur. Daring her to lie.

Seles flushes, anger rising to her cheeks.

“He’s not even—we don’t even have the same _mother_.”

Raquesis’ fingers jerk and the sword falls to the ground with a clatter. Seles jumps, and covers her surprise by looking even more offended than before.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Nothing!” Raquesis snaps back, bending to get the sword. It’s her imagination if she thinks it feels warmer than a minute ago. She knows it is. “There’s nothing wrong with me, it just slipped!”

She straightens the sword, and when she’s satisfied it won’t fall again, leaves it propped against the bed and looks back at Seles.

“That wasn’t nothing,” Seles points out. “You don’t _just drop_ the sword your _loving brother_ gave you.” Raquesis starts. Even when she knows it’s coming she knows she does. She starts, and she braces, but the expected exclamation never comes. Instead, Seles’ brow clears in sudden understanding. “That’s it – same father, different mothers. I’m right, aren’t I? That’s what surprised you. You didn’t expect me to be the same.”

Raquesis realizes she’s drumming her fingers against her own leg, and forces to stop.

“You’re not,” she tells Seles.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Seles says. “My brother doesn’t care about me at all, and I hate him.”

“My brother is dead.”

The words cut through Seles’ breathing, cut through the mint-scented air of the room. For a minute, the two of them are still, staring at one another in silence, the distant echoes of the arena the only noise in the room. Raquesis can’t quite read Seles’ expression, and she can’t imagine what she looks like.

And she can’t bring herself to look away.

“I’m sorry,” Seles says. She opens her lips again, like she wants to say something else, then stops, and turns to pour herself another glass of water.

Raquesis watches her struggle – the pot is heavy – but makes no move to help. If Seles wanted her to she’d ask. Raquesis wouldn’t want anyone condescending to her either.

“I would’ve returned anyhow to defeat you, but that’s what I wanted to say. You should tell him how you feel before it’s too late. You’ll be angry if you don’t.”

Seles takes another of these long, slow sips that are probably designed to annoy whoever’s waiting for her answer, and give herself some time to think. It’s never been Raquesis’ strong suit, but she can appreciate the tactics of it all the same.

After she’s done, she keeps the glass in hand, sliding her finger around the rim. It gives her hands something to do.

“He already knows. I mean, we’re not _close_ , but we’ve made sure that we’re communicating clearly about that subject at least. It’s so important to know where you stand with the people you l—family.”

Raquesis’ patience, at long last, runs out. “People can see it, you know, when you hide something like that. Soon enough it’s all they can see, and it’s all you can see, and if you don’t say something it _smothers_ you. My brother and I, we knew, he died but at least he didn’t die _smothered_.” She stands up, grabbing the Earth sword to hang to her belt. “Nothing needs to change, but be honest, at least with yourself,” she tells Seles, whose huge eyes glare at her, too-bright in her reddened face.

“How dare you! You’re no-one to stroll in and give me lessons, you don’t know anything about us – you just – you just want to pretend your brother isn’t dead! Through me!”

“And yours isn’t dead _yet_ , but you’re the one pretending it’s _too late_ when you won’t even try! So who’s the biggest fool, here!”

Seles’ back goes ramrod straight, then she bends on herself, wheezing.

“J—just—“

She throws an arm to the bedside table, where she put the glass, but a coughing fit sends her hand haywire and the glass shattering on the ground.

Raquesis feels keenly the absence of her staff, and settles for holding Seles up while she works through the worst of the fit. When finally she rests again, looking almost as drained as after their fight, Raquesis takes the spare glass on the second bed’s table, and pours the water herself.

“I’m sorry,” she tells Seles as she hands her the glass – Seles shook her off when she tried to help her drink.

“Yeah,” Seles says after finishing the glass. “Me too. Just…” her eyelids slip closed a second, as though wishing she was already alone.

“I’m leaving,” Raquesis says, moving toward the door.

“Good,” Seles mutters. “Still. Take care of yourself.”

A glance backward tells her Seles has opened her eyes again, and is looking at her. “You too.”

Seles licks her lips. “If you come back sometime, you can drop by the arena again. See if you can win again now I know how you fight.”

“Maybe,” Raquesis concedes.

She leaves without saying good-bye. The Earth sword feels cold and light on her belt.


End file.
